


Six of One

by averita



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You’re the one who didn’t want anything to change</i>, she thinks. <i>Why did you have to go and change everything?</i> (Spoilers for 2x01.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six of One

Fitz wakes up angry.

But that’s okay, really, that’s fine, because he’s awake and he may be angry but Jemma is _furious_.

***

“Fitz never wanted us to join this team,” she says.

Skye looks up, eyes cloudy and red-rimmed, but Jemma’s gaze remains fixed and unseeing on the latest infirmary report. 

“He said we had no business out in the field,” she continues almost dreamily. “That we’d be more useful in the lab, and there wouldn’t be any of this ‘James Bond nonsense’.” She pauses, and the bitter laugh that escapes sounds like someone choking. “I should have listened to him.

Skye shakes her head. She’s different these days, as they all are - she’s all smooth stone and precise edges where she was once rough and unformed, but it’s come at a cost. Even her words are sharper. 

“Would you do it differently?” Jemma asks, finally looking over to where Skye is curled up on the couch, her knees pulled up and her laptop resting on them. Not too long ago Jemma would have joined her, enjoyed her warmth, but they’re both holding themselves together with nothing but sheer will, and she suspects that even the slightest touch would be enough to break them.

“If you could go back?” she clarifies, when Skye doesn’t answer. “If you could do it again, knowing where we’d end up?”

“Yeah,” Skye says. “I would. Would you?”

Jemma bites the inside of her cheek, and doesn’t answer.

***

He’s only unconscious for three days, and later, she remembers very little about that time.

There’s no way to know what to expect if - and it is an “if”, not “when”, Jemma doesn’t fool herself - he wakes up. She excels at preparation, but there are too many possibilities here, too many terrible options, and they paralyze her as surely as any artifact ever could. 

The anger comes when his eyes finally open. All of the emotions that she’d shut down and put aside burst into life, and she weeps and clutches his hand and whispers his name over and over and over again, but it only agitates him. He thrashes on the bed, monitors beeping, and stutters out sounds that she can’t decipher until she’s ushered from the room and he’s sedated.

For the smartest person she’s ever met, he’s an _idiot_ , and now that he’s awake the relief melts into anger. She thinks about what he said, “You’re more than that”, and the tears turn bitter. 

_You’re the one who didn’t want anything to change_ , she thinks. _Why did you have to go and change everything?_

***

“I’m _fine_ , Jemma!” he spits, and drops the screwdriver he’s holding with a clatter. Jemma flinches, and Fitz slams his fist into the table.

“Stop it,” she says tightly, “please, stop pushing yourself.”

“I’m not the one pushing!” he yells, spinning around unsteadily. “Christ, Jemma, I’m not the one - not the one -” His eyes grow wild, in the way that’s become so familiar these past few weeks, the way that breaks her heart a little more each time. “You’re the one hovering, treating me like a - like a -”

“I’m trying to _help_ you!” Jemma cries, clenching her shaking hands and blinking rapidly as Fitz turns his back on her once more and leans against the wall of the lab. He’s still shaky on his feet but he hates the wheelchair, and in here, with her to watch him, it hadn’t seemed like such a terrible idea to let him walk around. 

He’s fallen three times this afternoon alone, and has grown angrier with each clumsy attempt to familiarize himself with the world that he once knew like the inside of his own mind. 

She takes a deep breath, struggling to calm herself. There’s something inside her, a sick heaviness like a living part of her, a parasite somewhere deep in her that’s eating away and threatening to burst free. She tamps it down like she has so many times these past few weeks; it’s taking more and more effort, these days.

“I’m trying to help,” she repeats, keeping her voice steady. “I know it’s frustrating but you’re doing so much better already. You just have to -”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Fitz snaps, pushing past her to stalk towards the door but stumbling over his own unsteady feet. He falls before she can catch him, landing ungracefully on the cold concrete floor, and cries out in pain and frustration as Jemma hurriedly bends down.

“ _Don’t_!” he chokes out, wrenching his arm away as she reaches for it. He looks like a wild animal, trapped and crazed and entirely unlike the person she once knew better than anyone in the world.

“Fitz -”

“I don’t want your help,” he spits, “I don’t, you’re the reason I’m -”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but it knocks the breath out of her all the same.

***

The others try to help, and she’s grateful. She shares a room with Skye and has never been more grateful for the other girl, the best female friend she’s ever had, but Skye is coping with her own trauma - coping rather better than Jemma is, she has to admit, throwing herself into her training and the unforgiving task of rebuilding SHIELD from the ashes.

May, too, is supportive, checking on her and Fitz regularly and somehow always showing up to offer her quiet, steady companionship when Jemma feels like she’s been knocked completely off course and finds herself in need of an anchor. But May is holding them all together, not just her, and with Coulson gone so often, she knows that the older woman has enough worries of her own. 

And Ward...

She wonders, once, it would be better if it was the other way around. If Ward was the one struggling to string sentences together, if he was trying to aim a rifle with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, and Fitz was the one sitting in a cell with hard, unfamiliar eyes. 

She wonders, but just for a moment, because she’s already living one nightmare and doesn’t need to dream up any others.

***

Fitz, at least, sleeps well these days. The many meds he’s taking leave him woozy sometimes, but he’s getting more rest than the rest of them.

He doesn’t so much as twitch as she sits on the bed beside him.

“I’m leaving,” she says, and swallows hard. “I’m so sorry, Fitz. But when you look at me - I don’t know what you need right now, but I don’t think it’s me.” She closes her eyes, tears slipping hotly down her cheeks and landing on his shirt. “I think I’m making things worse.”

She cries silently, clutching her fingers to her mouth, and against her better judgment she curls up beside him. His breathing is deep and even, and his shoulder warm when she rests her forehead against it.

“I love you,” she breathes, gripping his sleeve. “Do you hear me? I love you, Fitz. I just can’t -”

She can’t. She wishes, more than anything, that she could.

***

He hears her before he sees her, which gives him a split second to decide what to say.

She looks better than she has in weeks - the dark circles are still there under her eyes, but they’re lighter, and her hair is shiny and soft-looking instead of limp and greasy. She’s beautiful, but then, he always thinks so.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as soon as he finds his voice. “Jemma, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - I didn’t mean it, Jemma, you know I didn’t.” 

“Shhh,” she says, stepping closer. “That’s not why I left. I just wanted to help you get better, and I thought that me being here was making it harder.”

Fitz shakes his head forcefully, ignoring the slight dizziness that comes with the motion. “No,” he says. “No. You’re the only thing - the only thing - you’re helping, Jemma. I just get - I get -”

“Embarrassed?” she suggests gently, and he nods. 

“I don’t like you seeing me like this,” he admits. “But I need you, Jemma, please. I’m getting better. Really. Look. I’m getting there, but - everything’s wrong, it’s like the - like the - like the pieces aren’t where they’re supposed to be and you’re the only thing that still makes sense.” He reaches for her, hesitantly. “Jemma, I need you.”

She smiles, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, Fitz,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Her hand is warm and soft when she squeezes his shoulder, and he covers it with his own.


End file.
